A Fallen Angel
by Punzie the Platypus
Summary: The palace is in angry, betrayed chaos. Maxon is woken up the day after dancing with America to find out from his father that Marlee Tames committed high treason against Illéa. He requests one last audience with her and saves her from death by giving her a merciful, more deeply personal punishment: the caning.


**_Soli Deo gloria_**

**DISCLAIMER: I do NOT own The Selection.**

**So this series is my stupid little guilty pleasure. It isn't the most creative in ideas or writing, bUT IT'S SO CUTE AND THE CHARACTERS TAKE YOUR FEELS AND TORTURE YOU and it's fun. XD**

**~ Maxon's point of view ~**

The morning after the party was strangely ominous. The light through the windows glowed white and I heard yelling and running down the halls. I sat up from my bed, feeling a slight headache from the constant champagne glasses Celeste passed my way last night. I grimaced and got up. I wasn't quite used to so much alcohol. It was usually reserved for big diplomatic parties, a part of which I am not a frequent , I looked back at last night and smiled. Oh, dancing with all the girls, saving the best for last. America was beautiful in her butterfly wings, with dark eye makeup and wavy red hair. She was gorgeous, even if not in the most conventional of ways. I find myself under her thumb willingly too many times for my father.

I could have proposed to her right there. Right then and there. I wished I had.

I was thrust from my daydreams of America by my father barging into my room. I knew it was his castle, and he was the king, but I preferred knocking. I felt like quaking in my bed. I didn't sleep very well because he was around, but there was nothing more I wanted to do right now than to hide under these covers away from his sight. Still, I stood up straight and said, "What's wrong, Father?"

Father paced up and down past my door, a habit I am known for doing that annoys him to no end. Yet here he was doing it. It was a turn of the tables that I didn't like.

He finally faced me and scowled. "Get some clothes on, Maxon. And hurry. We have a situation on our hands."

I wasn't sure what to do dress for: a funeral, an unplanned flight to New Asia concerning the war and uneasiness we have with their political leaders? Was there yet again another fight between two of the Selected? Suddenly I felt my heart hurt, and I hurried to do what I was told. What if something happened with America?

"What happened?" I asked. I pulled off my nightshirt and quickened to shield the undeniable scars from his eyes. I'd rather not bring them up, or show my weakness, at a time like this.

Father didn't bother to notice. He scoffed and said, "One of the rules of the Selection is that you are the only candidate for the girls' affection. Is that not written out, plain and simple, in the terms and conditions of entering, Maxon?"

"Yes," I said quickly. Of course now I realized what had happened as I pulled on black pants and buttoned on a black polo. I looked up, worried, and said, "Which one of the girls was it?"

Father pressed his lips together. Sighed. "Lady Marlee Tames was found in a compromising position with one of the guards, Carter Woodwork, this past hour."

One of his favorites. The public's favorite. Marlee was a nice girl, but we lacked chemistry and often found long lulls of silence in our talks. I knew she wasn't the One. It wouldn't have worked out between us, and instantly I kicked myself for not having eliminating her before now. If I had eliminated her, quick and fast and nice, then she would have been separated from the guard, yes, but she wouldn't be killed now.

_Killed. _That word pressed again my brain and I tried to will it away, but I couldn't. A public execution was the answer to treason, and Marlee Tames had fraternized with someone other than me, a royal. _The _royal. And because her heart couldn't love me in that way and her longings led her to someone off-limits, she will pay for it with her life.

"The execution's in an hour. We will be presiding. They committed a crime against you, Maxon, and so you will perform the punishment against them for this _treason_," Father said. His tone was harsh.

My father was very extreme, without mercy. Many a time I wondered how he could have picked Mother. Perhaps because they were so total opposites. Maybe he knew he needed someone to offset and balance him. Mother was perfect for that role. Kind, queenly, maternal, patient, peaceful, she was everything he wasn't. I wondered what she would do if she was put in this position. To kill these two criminals, who betrayed their promises to their country?

I knew what Mother would do. She would spare them if she could, but ultimately yield to my father's will. And my father had already made clear what his decision would be.

I realized that this was yet another one of his stupid tests. One that betrayed to him how I would rule when he was retired and I was ruling Illéa in his place.

I didn't say a word as I tied up my shoes and then went to run a wet comb through my hair. My father looked outside the cold window at the early morning dawn. It was early. None of the other Selected could be up now. All was being kept quiet. For a little while.

I stared at myself in the mirror after I finished combing my blond hair. Looked myself in my eyes. My father waited for an answer from me. I was scared and anxious about disappointing him with a decision he wouldn't like. I was like that my entire life, making my decisions and choices based on what my father wanted instead of what I thought right and good because I didn't want his anger placed on me. I felt a literal target on my back every time he put a situation of responsibility into my hands, like it was a bomb.

I looked myself in the mirror and knew I wasn't my father. I couldn't make all the decisions he wanted me to make and live with myself. I also couldn't swing to the right and be my mother, all peaceful. I knew that punishment had to be dealt in some way. Death or nothing: that wasn't me. I had to deliver something between.

I was a culmination of both of them. I wasn't wholly the other. I was split down the middle.

I came out of my bathroom and said, "I want to see Marlee."

"What for?" Father asked.

"Is her whole life to be ended for one mistake?" I asked.

"You don't realize it, do you? She's been committing treason for _weeks_. Silvia and the head of the guards, Markson, interrogated them both once they arrested them. She upset Silvia, which means this entire household will run like a rickety wagon on a bumpy road for the better part of a week." He rolled his eyes.

It was nice to know my father was ruffled by the idea of his housekeeper being disturbed, interrupting his life for a week, while Marlee and this guard lay dead in their graves.

I set my foot down metaphorically and said, "I want one last audience with her." I wanted to see her because that might help me figure out what to do with her.

Father sighed and then said, "An audience with the prince is the last thing she deserves. But every criminal is to get a trial." He nodded to the door and hurried to open it. "Five minutes. No more, no less. Then breakfast. Then the execution."

How did he expect me to eat like nothing was happening when Marlee would be writhing in guilt and tears in the last hour of her life?

However, I walked calmly, not betraying any of these thoughts to my father as I followed him out of my room.

* * *

><p>We met in the Great Room. It was long, with rich purple carpet running down its length. Armored knights, expensive paintings chosen from some significant, talented Twos, and guards were stationed along its sides. I never minded this arrangement of things before. As a matter of fact, I thought it completely ordinary and normal for there to be so many guards, but now I felt uneasy. Their comrade was found committing treason, and was sentenced to death within the hour. How could they not be angry, hurt, or even emotionally moved? Yet they stood like statues in their usual positions.<p>

It was all about the show, wasn't it? Acting like you were fine, putting your best foot forward, putting up a shield between you and your emotions and the real world? I got that. I had been doing that on every _Report_ since I could remember.

I stood up from my throne when Marlee was brought into the room, but Father shook his head. He sat at my left, watching and taking notes. I swallowed hard and sat down. He was right. A royal shouldn't have to stand before a criminal. Standing before an entering guest is considered respecting them and honoring their caste. Marlee wasn't supposed to be shown any respect or honor. She hadn't paid any to me.

Yet I still see before me not a criminal but an innocent blonde-haired girl. She was just seventeen, so small and young and beautiful. She was still a lady in my mind, despite the torn white dress around her. My heart ached; she was an angel fallen from grace. Her bedraggled blonde hair shielded her tear-stricken face as she limped forward. Had she been hit, mistreated into doing that? Or was it hard for her to walk because she didn't want to stand before me, someone who had the power to end her life? Either way, she walked slowly toward me, flanked by impassive guards. And she was sobbing. My great weakness. I hadn't a clue what to do with crying girls. They made me feel utterly useless.

She approached and then noticed the king. A fresh wave of tears overtook her, but somehow she managed to curtsy. Even in her broken state, she retained cordial court manners. That said something about her character.

"Lady Marlee," my father said sternly. "You are here on account of being found in a compromising position with a trusted palace guard. Both of you have broken your vows to your country, and thus have earned yourself punishment for the highest form of treason: death."

Marlee bit her lip and tears ran down her face. She had some blood on her. Where did that come from?

Father stood up and straightened his tie. "Maxon," he said.

I quickly turned to him, trying to hide the dread in my face.

"You have five minutes alone with her. Your mother and I will be in the dining room." He gave me a quick nod and walked out of the room, leaving me with a crying criminal teenager and several guards.

I was hesitant; I hadn't expected this morning to play out like it did. I wasn't angry at Marlee, but hurt. Sure, I didn't love her as much as I loved and cared for America, but I had grown fond of each girl at least a little bit. I was perplexed, however, that she would get so involved with a guard after all the protocol and precautions both Silvia and Clyde, the man we sent to her house at Kent before she came to the palace, had ingrained into her brain.

She risked everything. She was a member of the Selection, an Elite, a Three, a celebrity. The people loved her. I didn't love her, but knew she was a good person. And she betrayed all that for a guard?

Something about her tears caught my attention. They raised a question that I then asked her. I tried to keep my voice detached and cool, though I loathed doing so. I didn't like taking after my father. "Marlee, my dear, are you sorry that you were caught, or are you sorry because you know you've done something wrong? Illegal? Strictly forbidden?" Her illegal conduct had stripped the 'Lady' from her name. She was lower than an Eight now.

I stood up and walked toward her. She breathed heavily and that somehow calmed her down. She tilted her head up and said, "I know I did wrong. I'm sorry for both reasons. I never wanted to cause trouble. I'm so sorry, Maxon. I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'm sorry." She looked at the ground, hiccuping, and her handcuffed hand pressed against her heart. Was it breaking now, or did all this cause a great pain in her chest that would never heal?

I sighed and said, "How could you do this, Marlee? You were brought here for one sole purpose, and you completely ignored that. Perhaps it was cruel of me to keep you here when you were acting so . . ."

"It's not your fault. It's me, I did wrong," Marlee said. She looked at the ceiling, and tears shone in her brown eyes. She had pride in her chin, because she said, "I love him, Maxon." She met my eyes and said, "I can't help but love him. I'm sorry that it couldn't work out between us. But there was _nothing_ between us. No common interests, no conversation, not even the same senses of humor."

She had a point. But that didn't mean she had to go behind my back. I felt a little hurt because of that. The secrecy. All I wanted in my life was some stability, someone to count on, and while I didn't put a whole of trust into any of the girls except for America, I felt betrayed by Marlee.

What she did also made me feel somehow worth less. She could have had me, a One, the prince, the future ruler of all of Illéa, and she snuck behind my back to have an illicit affair with a guard.

Besides all of my titles, I'm not much to want, am I?

"I'm sorry I went behind your back. I never wanted to hurt you. But I love him. It's that simple, Your Highness," Marlee said. She sucked in a breath and clumsily knelt before me. Her head was hung, her handcuffed hands trembling together before her. She looked at the floor and whispered in a barely audible voice, "Have mercy, Your Highness."

Is this what it is like to be king? To deal judgement on a teenage girl who simply didn't fall in love with a boy whose heart was set on another? This . . . this was wrong.

She wanted mercy, and I wanted to give it to her. She did wrong by betraying her purpose in the palace, but it was obvious that she wasn't ever going to be my wife. It was a two-sided coin. She was a poor girl in an unfortunate situation, and I wanted to help her. But my father was obstinate that she die.

But I wasn't about to let this poor girl die.

"Marlee, in the eyes of the law, you committed a crime against me, the prince," I said. "Therefore, I shall be the one to place the punishment on your head."

Marlee shook and inhaled a shaky breath. But she didn't look up.

I breathed out heavily and turned away, pacing with my hands at my head. I wasn't sure what to do in way of punishment. I wouldn't have her executed, but I knew that my father had to be appeased. I knew she had to be made an example, or who knew what the other girls thought they could get away with?

"Do you want to marry him?" I say suddenly.

Marlee grew still. She looked up, and said with the slightest of defiance that reminded me of America, and thus endeared her slightly to me, "I want to marry him."

"If you both lived, you'd both spend the rest of your lives together?" I asked. I ached. That's all _I_ wanted. And because that was all I wanted, I knew I was about to grant it to a poor guard and girl.

Marlee nodded.

"You seem so sure of his own reaction," I said a little bitterly.

"He knew what he was doing as I did," she said quietly.

"And he didn't care about the consequences?" I asked.

"And he loves me," Marlee said.

I wished someone would say that same thing about me. If America could say that, I would be the happiest man alive.

I paced the floor. I wasn't in the practice of denying my people their love and lives, as my father was. So I decided on a capital punishment. This entire thing was hurting me deeply, and now this punishment, I knew, would hurt me even more. Every strike of the cane would cut me deeper than anyone would know. But I knew that it could be executed publicly, make them an example, scar them (I knew about the scars. Wasn't my back a canvas for my father's carving blade?), and most importantly, appease my father's blood-lust.

Speak of the devil. Father came walking into the room, followed by a worried Silvia and Gavril.

"Maxon, we must move along," Father said.

"You betrayed the future king of Illéa and broke a law," I said to Marlee, ignoring my father. "You deserve to be recipient of the highest form of capital punishment, and yet, I will show you mercy." I looked at Father, who appeared stricken, and said, "The people of Illéa wouldn't like it if I had killed a lady who was contending to be my wife. What would they think of me, of the Selection?"

Silvia and Gavril exchanged worried looks.

"She knew the law before she decided to completely ignore it," Father said sternly. He raised an eyebrow. "Are you saying she is above the law, Maxon?"

"No," I said. "I'm saying that stripping her and Carter of their castes and making them Eights, and then still publicly punishing them, should suffice. The monarchy shouldn't be known as people who kill those who once walked their halls as a maybe-princess and a trusted guard."

"Maxon is right, King Clarkson," Gavril said calmly. "Killing one of the Selected will cast ill on the royal family in the public eye."

I could hardly care about our public image; I just knew I couldn't kill her. Especially when she is America's best friend. I wasn't a cruel man.

"What are you suggesting, then, Maxon?" Father asked sternly.

I was shocked that he seemed to take my idea seriously. He never did that. I quickly stumbled before swallowing and saying calmly to Marlee, with authority, "I, the prince of Illéa, hereby sentence you, Marlee Tames, and the guard, Carter Woodwork, to fifteen strikes of the cane before the entire country of Illéa, and then after you will be stripped of your castes and thrown away as Eights. The public caning will happen in one hour."

Marlee looked up at me with those pain-stricken eyes and gave me the slightest of nods. She squeezed tears out and said, "Thank you for your mercy, Your Highness." She was then led out, her back bent, her body hunched over.

The way she said that made me ache. I knew I couldn't let all that happen to her. I was merciful enough, I hoped, to even get her somehow out of _this_ punishment. Being an Eight, according to America, is the worst of the worst. I couldn't let that happen to her. America would never forgive me. And I couldn't live with myself.

"Excellent execution of justice, Prince Maxon," Gavril said in a comforting, congratulatory tone. He clapped a hand on my shoulder. I tried to hide the wince. Even days after a caning from my father, I still felt sore.

Silvia breathed in deeply. "I never suspected it from her. I've been around her for weeks and never noticed." She shook her head at herself.

"It isn't your fault, Silvia," Father said. "None of us thought it would happen. Unfortunately, we thought too highly of those from lower castes."

That hurt me, but I dared not show him how that affected me. I was sure he was pointing that out to me to show his opinion of America.

"Being an Eight is too good for her," Father said.

He looked at me as if expecting me to agree.

I nodded firmly and lied. "Indeed."

Silvia inhaled and said, "All right, we must remain on schedule. Your Highnesses, your breakfast is getting cold." She put on a thin smile and waved a hand toward the dining room.

Father nodded. "Yes. Gavril, go watch over the camera crew as they assemble on the execution stage." Gavril nodded and gave me a sympathetic look as he hurried from the room. "Maxon, go in to your mother." He gave me a hard look and I sighed and walked toward the dining room. I heard him tell Silvia to go tell the maids to hurry their ladies into black dress. This was going to be a hard lesson for them, and he hoped them to take it to heart.

I'd like to think that none of them ever thought of falling in love with a guard. But then, I hadn't thought that of Marlee, and look at her now.

I walked into the dining room. Mother sat in her chair all alone, wearing dark clothes with her hair down her shoulders. She gave me a sad smile and I took my seat. I explained to her the new sentence on Marlee's and Carter's heads, and was happy to see the relief on her face.

"That was a kind thing to do, Maxon," she said softly.

"It wasn't enough, though," I sighed.

She gave me a weak smile. "You're just the prince. There's only so much you can do."

I knew she meant to comfort me. But instead, Mother provoked me into thinking. That was better than making me feel better, though. It made me think of a new plan. A way to help Marlee and Carter. I wanted to help them, not leave them to this horrible fate.

An idea formulated in my brain as my parents and I walked down the hall, leading all the confused girls toward the front gates of the palace.

The next few minutes would be terribly painful, but I had an idea that would save Marlee and Carter from an even more bitter ending.

**Thanks for reading! God bless you!**


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